Theatrum Miraculum
by Pontifex Maximus
Summary: A historian comes to Jerusalem to make research for his new book. Then he meets someone he would never expect to meet. King Baldwin IV shows him that history can be very harmful and being a historian can sometimes be pretty dangerous.
1. Chapter 1

Here I am with my new story. Please keep in mind that I am not a native speaker and have had no beta during translating it from Polish to English, so please forgive me any mistakes. If you know Polish or are just curious how the story looks in original, feer free to contact me. Please read and tell me what you think of it. I am open for any suggestions as long as they are not offensive. Thank you!

Chapter 1

„Be careful! This equipment is worth more than your whole village!"

A young Arab helper flinched under the weight of a massive box. With a silent reproach he looked at a man standing in the sun of Jerusalem.

He was slim and tall; he used to carry a fashionable walking stick, even though he didn't need it. The man was just smoking cigarettes, giving orders and yelling at everyone. He was, with no doubt, the one to rule in the camp.

„Quciker! I'd like to start working before sunset, but if you keep working like this, I'll start tomorrow!"

The Arabs, whose skin was burnt with sun, came back to the inside of the Holy Sepulcher. They kept on taking big boxes and chests to the sanctuary, where others servants were unpacking them and putting them in right places.

„Sir, would you like a cup of tea? It's nearly 5 o'clock." A young and frightened maid said. The man just shook his head and snapped: „Don't you see how busy I am now? Not now, just leave me!"

„I'm sorry, sir" The girl whispered and left the man alone.

He caressed the top of his artistic walking stick, as if it had been a woman's cheek. He looked at the Holy Sepulcher; it looked like a sandy ring, bitten with time, too fragile to even touch it, but still to majestic to raise a hand on it.

Then he felt the wind on his face. The blow was so strong that it carried tons of sand with it; the man felt the painful grains in his eyes and mouth, when he suddenly found himself lying on the ground. The only thing he could feel was the sour taste of sand.

„Sir, are you alright? Please, give me your hand, I'll help you up!" The maid screamed as she jumped towards him.

He shook his head. His walking stick was lying beside him, covered with golden dust.

„I'm fine, it's just sand. Go back to your work."

The Holy Land was charming as always. Shining copules, sandy buildings and colorful arabesqes... Everything seemed to be full of undisturbed, beautiful life, telling it's own story over and over again.

People had always been wodering why was Jerusalem so magical. Some used to say that because of various cultures living there; the others claimed that the city's history was like a sack with no bottom. But Bernard Foster had his own point of view.

When he was a child, his father took him on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Then he met a boy, who would never reveal his name. He told Bernard that in the place where they had been standing once was a great palace of the kings. Bernard, fasdcinated with the story, years later decided to travel to Jerusalem again. Then he faced the city during the crusades and stayed there forever.

Now, as a man is his fifties, he still could smell the middle-aged spices and hear the music filling the streets.

He was walking slowly along the old walls, breathing in the scent of booths and sand. For a moment he thought he had seen women in colorful robes, dancing to the music, and fully armed knights in cloaks with red crosses.

„The Templars..." he whispered to himself.

He stopped for a while to fully enjoy the sight, but everything disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

_Jerusalem, A.D 1185_

The chamber was very sultry. The scent of incense was mixing with the smell of rotting flesh; the thick smoke was dancing under the ceiling.

The insipid light of candles was reflecting in the colorful glass, which were the walls decorated with. Those reflections seemed to make the animals and creatures on the walls come alive, making them almost mystical.

Two Arabs, dressed in white, were walking around a majestic bed hidden under a canopy. In their hands they were holding oils and bandages. Sometimes they were murmuring something in Arabic to each other, listening to the shallow breath of a man on the bed.

_The King was dying._

„Who is here?" The king asked.

One of the physicans came closer to hear his lord better.

„I am here, My Lord. Abdul. And Khalib is also here."

„Good" The king whispered. „I would like to see my sister before I pass away."

The Arabs looked at each other with troubled eyes.

„She is in Ascalon now, My Lord."

„Then call her here. I have not much time."

One of the physicans bowed his head, even though the monarch couldn't see it. Quickly, he turned in his heel and stepped out of the sultry chamber, walking towards one of the guards.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Bernard Foster looked around in awe. Was this just a dream? Or was it real? He didn't know the answer, but some inner voice was telling him that his visit to the Holy Land is going to be unusual.

As a historian, Bernard was a man of reason. He never believed in superstitions or magic, he wasn't even Christian. But something wasn't right. Of course, he'd had some hallucinations before and it he was able to explain it, but this time… it was different. It was not a hallucination, he knew it. It was something unbelievable, as if he'd jumped up high to the stars and found himself back in the twelfth century.

"No, it can't be" he murmured to himself, trying to calm down.

He wasn't scared. He was excited and the feeling was, as Bernard quickly found out, one of the best in his whole life.

Bernard knew that something unusual was happening. He could feel it.

He sat on a bench on his balcony, sipping his coffee. Drinking coffee was like a ritual to him. Always when he was tired and wanted to be alone, he ordered a mug of a strong, black coffee with no sugar. He loved such moments – only him and his steaming mug. He even had his favorite one, with a map of mediaeval Europe on it.

When made came in to bring him some fresh cake, he waved his hand impatiently.

"Not now" he said. "You better bring me my notebook and a pen".

"Sir?"

"Hurry up, child. I don't want to miss a word from what I've just thought out".

The girl quickly fulfilled the order and brought Bernard his old, brown notebook and a fatigued pen.

"Thank you. And please, take the cake away from me, I don't like it".

"Yes, sir."

When she left, Bernard opened the notebook. It was in a complete mess – some sheets were flying around, falling out of the cover, some were dirty with stains of coffee and burned with cigarettes. But he didn't care. It was his most loved notebook and he wasn't going to change it to any other.

Just as soon as he opened the notebook, he felt a strong blow of wind on his face. He regarded it as a sign to start his work.

He wanted to write a book. But it wasn't supposed to be a historical one – Bernard wanted to write a novel. About the man he admired most – king Baldwin IV of Jerusalem.

Bernard knew almost everything about the king. He fascinated him to pieces, he wanted to know how he looked like, listen to his voice… And then, Bernard realized that writing a book may bring Baldwin back to life. He didn't only know how right he was then.


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter was written at school, so it means quickly and spontaneously. Please keep in mind that my English sucks, I have no beta and little time to update the story. Yet, I hope you'll like it :)**

**Please R&R, I need your opinions so badly to know what to change during writing the next chapters.**

_**Jerusalem, AD 1185**_

Some people say that when somebody dies, a new star appears on the sky. When the world loses someone precious and virtuous, their star shines brighter than the other ones.

A young woman looked down at the body wrapped in black robes, lying on the pedestal. Her eyes were dry, though her heart was crying a tear after tear.

"My dearest brother" she whispered "I will be missing you"

She touched lightly his forehead, hidden behind a silver mask.

"The world will be missing you also"

She turned around to see a tall man dressed in a blue robe with the Jerusalem Cross on his chest.

"Raymond" she said "You scared me"

"Please forgive me, Your Highness" Raymond apologized quickly "I didn't mean to do it"

They both stood beside the pedestal, gazing at the body in silence.

The woman suddenly hid her face behind a black veil.

"My son needs me" she explained "If you'll excuse me…"

Raymond bowed his head in respect.

"Certainly."

And there he was, alone in the chapel, unable to collect his thoughts. He knew he'd lost not only a great king, but also a great friend. His Highness Baldwin, the fourth of that name, was a king that every country needed. Wise and just, yet held tightly in the claws of a terrible disease, that eventually killed him.

"You were my best friend, Baldwin" Raymond said, mostly to himself "The world around me will be empty without you"

Saying that, he touched a bandaged and crippled hand of the king. He could feel the bruises and lack of some fingers. What a terrible, cruel disease!

The preparations for the funeral were almost done. The procession was supposed to leave the royal palace and head straight to the Holy Sepulcher, where Baldwin's body was buried.

As every funeral, it was a very sad event. People were looking curiously after the coffin, hoping to see the body of their ruler. But they couldn't see it, for tears completely blurred their vision.

_**Jerusalem, present time** _

It was nearly dawn when Bernard realized that he'd already written 30 pages. His handwriting was slim and small, sometimes even hard to read. He looked at his cup – it was empty and his body was desperately calling for more coffee.

He didn't want to call his maid, he was sure she was still sleeping, so, on his tiptoes, he went down to the kitchen attached to his apartment to prepare the godly drink.

He shot a glance at the clock – it was 5:30 in the morning.

"Too early to go to work" he said to himself "But taking a short walk may be a good idea"

He quickly finished his coffee, grabbed his walking stick and, unseen, left the hotel.

Jerusalem seemed very fresh at this time of the day. Bernard could see people starting to prepare their stalls, putting out vegetables, fruits and jewelry. Their welcoming smiles made Bernard feel warmth slowly spreading through his veins.

He knew he loved this city.

He decided to visit the Holy Sepulcher. He didn't expect many people to be there so early in the morning.

When Bernard stepped through an open door, he felt a wave of pleasant cold. Nobody was inside, just a few candles were almost burning out, hidden in the corners.

Slowly, he walked down the main hall, looking around curiously.

"I wish I could see how it looked like in the past…" he murmured to himself.

And then, something unusual happened. Suddenly, everything went black. Bernard couldn't find anything at all – he didn't see the door nor the windows, and all the candles were gone.

"What is going on?" he yelled.

He felt the warmth of a sunray on his face. He opened his eyes and gasped.

The world around him seemed to have come back to normal, but there was one strange thing. The Sepulcher was now crowded with people dressed in colorful, long robes. Some of them had a red cross on their chest.

_Templars! _

"My God, where am I?" he whispered under his breath. "It can't be possible"

He was walking around slowly, realizing that those people haven't noticed his presence. He gazed at the beautiful ornaments inside the temple – they were breathtaking, seeming to have come back to life.

"Do your wishes often come true?" he heard behind his back. He turned around sharply.

Bernard's eyes widened in surprise when he saw a tall, thin man wearing a deep green robe and a scarf.

He didn't respond to the man's question. He was just staring – and – before he held back his tongue, he asked:

"Who are you?"

The man smiled sadly and stepped closer. Bernard could smell the scent of jasmine and incense.

"I am Baldwin the Fourth, King of Jerusalem. I have been waiting here for you."


End file.
